Evil Intent
by MistressSnowclaw
Summary: Garth abandons a vampire hunt mysteriously, and the Winchesters goes to investigate. But this is no easy hunt, and Dean has to pull all the stops to save Sam. Missing (possibly dead) Sam. Worried Dean. Supportive Benny. Cowardly Garth. Mid S8, after they found the Bunker, before Sam starts the trials. Castiel is MIA.
1. Chapter 1

Sam had his finger on a line of text in some obscure tome. He was frowning at it intently, reading and re-reading the Latin, trying to glean some kind of understanding from it.

He hated Latin.

The table in front of him was scattered with various books with sticky notes pasted all over them. The neon colours were a grotesque contrast to the yellowing pages and leather-bound covers.

He had been eyeballs deep in the Men of Letters' archives for weeks now. He felt overwhelmed by the sheer volume of material he had at his disposal.

Right now, however, he was digging for any mention of demon tablets, trials, hell gates….. anything at all.

He hadn't had this kind of drive in ages. This was the one purpose he could get behind with his entire being. He didn't particularly care if Kevin got any sleep - just as long as the kid worked out how to slam the Gates of Hell.

He was staring at the book so hard, that he did not hear Dean entering the room, shrugging on his jacket.

"Morning" Dean said.

Sam jumped, and turned to his brother, (( to be met with a self-satisfied grin)). Dean never gets over taking the piss out his brother.

"Whatcha reading?" he asked innocently as he walked over.

Leaning back, Sam stretched his back. "A history of the Great Plague, written by a priest who was convinced _demons_ had caused it". He smiled sarcastically.

Dean pulled a face. "Good times". He slapped the table "Ok well. I'm heading out for supplies. You need anything?" He made a show of twirling the Impala's keys around his finger.

Sam shrugged, then sat up "Actually" he started "we need a new belt for the washing machine".

Dean looked at him blankly "The whatnow?"

Sam stared at him for a second. "The wa-shing ma-chine?". He chanted slowly. "You know, the thing that washes clothes?". He raised his eyebrows in mockery, his face a show of utter ((bitchiness)).

"Yeah, I know what a fucking washing machine is douchewad. " Dean fumed, embarrassed. He frowned. "Since when do we have a washing machine?" he was genuinely confused.

Sam drew a breath to retort, exhaled it, blinked, then simply packed out laughing. The kind of laugh that, at first, doesn't make a sound, then just becomes wheezing. He bent forward, his hair falling in his face, clutching the table for support.

Dean stared shocked at his brother. _The hell is wrong with him?_

"Dude..?" he started, was Sam having a fit of some kind? "What can possibly be this funny?" he asked, now getting annoyed.

Sam now had his head in his hand, shaking with poorly contained mirth, tears streaming down his cheeks uncontrollably.

Dean was utterly confounded as to why Sam was practically suffocating with laughter. He was torn between simply walking away from the embarrassment, and watching his brother consumed with pure innocent joy. It's been a long-ass time since Sam had anything to laugh about. Never mind laugh till he cried.

Sam dragged in a ragged breath " Where…." he gasped, then failed, tried again. "Where do you think.." he heaved " all your clean clothes come from?" He moved his hand from his eyes to look at his brother. A giant smile splitting his face. He wiped at his wet cheeks.

"Huh?" Dean was confounded. "What in the name of God are you talkin' 'bout?"

The younger Hunter composed himself, coughed and took a deep breath. "Dean, we've been here for almost a month. Where do you think your clean clothes come from?" His mouth twitched with the urge to start laughing again.

Dean looked lost. "uhh.. ".

Sam got a glint in his eye as he continued "Could it be" he snickered "that you thought, the bunker had some special voodoo that cleaned and packed your laundry?" his last words dissolved into more giggling.

"What?!" Dean yelped indignantly. "Of course not". He squirmed uncomfortably under Sam's gaze. "I knew my little bitch brother wouldn't let laundry lie for more than a day. And I know how you love to play housewife". He displayed a cocksure grin, trying to dispel the fact that he had been caught out.

"Yeah, whatever" Sam smiled at him. He saw right through Dean. He shook his head. Dean could be a giant asshole when it suited him, but at times like this, Sam could just hug the crap out of his older brother, simply to annoy him.

Dean shouldered through the awkwardness. "So this belt thing. What the hell is it?" He scowled.

"I'll text you the details" Sam replied, still smiling.

"Yeah you do that Martha Stewart" he rumbled, still trying to gain a win from this whole experience.  
He glared at Sam a moment longer, shook his head and then stalked past him.

~oOoOoOoOo~

Dean was marching to the Impala when his phone rang. He pulled the phone from his pocket and swung the car door open at the same time.

It was Garth. He drew a breath for strength before answering "Garth" he sighed

" _Hey Dean"_ the voice over the phone drawled.

Silence.

"Yes, Garth?" Dean urged, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He had better things to do than chat with Skeletor.

Throat clearing on the other end of the line.

" _What y'all doin?",_ the discomfort in his voice obvious.

Dean pinched the space between his eyes. This is going to be a long conversation. "What do you want Garth?"

" _Well uhhh….."_ , he was stalling.

Dean ground his jaw. He was pretty sure if it were important, the story would have been told already.

Garth cleared his throat again, audibly drew a breath, and started.

" _I was working a case in Dew Creek, out Louisiana side - some Fangs.. And uh…",_ another breath, _"well, I had to leave. So I was wonderin'-"_

"-Leave? Why?" Dean asked curtly. He wasn't in the mood for an inquisition.

" _Personal stuff"._ He was vague. Garth sped on. _"Anyway, I will text you the details. Room's paid 'til next week. All the info is already laid out-"_

"Garth-", Dean interrupted.

The voice on the phone kept going, _"-deaths so far. Thanks man, I owe ya."_

Dean tried again, "I don't understand why you can't just deal with this yourself. Sam and I are kinda in the middle of a case already…. Garth?", silence on the line. "Garth? Garth! Sonofa…"

Dean took the phone from his ear and checked the screen.

 _Call disconnected._

He sighed irritably. The day had been going so well.

He stared at the screen for a few more seconds, willing it to erase all evidence of Garth's call, then he could go and get some beer, make some grub and watch Sam do the laundry – was that too much to ask?

The phone beeped. A text message from Garth.

" …kick your skinny ass…" he mumbled as he shoved the car door open again.

~oOoOoOoOo~

Sam opened the motel room door. Garth had left the keys at the booking desk, as promised. And the room was paid upfront for 5 days.

The room was well-furnished. Actually, impressively so, considering it was a motel.

Two double beds and frilly pillows, big-screen television, elaborate glass chandelier, jacuzzi…. The tackiest kind of kitsch money can buy.

Sam shook his head. For all his faults, Garth at least didn't skimp on his creature comforts, however gaudy and cliché they might be.

Hearing the slam of the Impala's trunk, Sam turned to watch Dean's face as he walked into the room and was not disappointed. The look of sheer disgust made Sam snort in mirth despite himself.

Eyeing the jacuzzi suspiciously, Dean asked "Please tell me there is a shower in here….?".

"Nope" Sam smiled cheerily. He was pretty sure there was one, but getting to watch Dean squirm twice in the space of 24 hours? That was a rare treat.

Dean grimaced with revulsion, and dumped his gear on the bed closest to the door.

Sam had long since given up getting his big brother out of this habit. When asked why he still insists on taking the bed closest to the exit, big brother mutters and scowls, but would never admit that, even though Sam is _more_ than capable of handling pretty much anything that came through that door, Dean still wanted to, no, _needed to_ , protect his sibling against all comers.

So Sam doesn't ask anymore, but smiles to himself whenever Dean makes a show of claiming that particular bed.

Dean pulled his shirt over his head and started rummaging for a fresh one. It had been a long drive. "You tried calling him again?", he asked over his shoulder.

Sam, already squinting at the tableau Garth had arranged over the motel room wall, sighed "Yep. No answer". He hated working with other people's research. Every Hunter has their own way of arranging their stuff so that it makes sense to them - Sam was no exception.

Seeing Dean staring at the chandelier as if the thing were about to bite him, he said "Listen, I'm going to need a few hours to figure out all this crap" waving at the clippings, map, strings and post-it notes on the wall "Why don't you go talk to some locals, hear what there is to hear", eyeing Dean pointedly. _Please get out from under my feet so I can get work done._

Recognising the life-line he was being thrown, Dean perked up, "Good idea. I will bring us some lunch too. Anything you feel like?"

Sam shrugged "Usual".

Dean was already out the door when Sam turned to ask him something. He shrugged, turned back to Garth's research with a resigned sigh. He checked his watch - 9:34am.

They had driven all night. Garth's cryptic call to Dean was precious little information to warrant an all-night haul, but a quick online search, had revealed a definite body count in this town. So within 45 minutes of his call, they were on the road.

Sam had tried to catch some sleep on the road, but it had not been forthcoming. Instead he had done more research, and tried to get more information from Garth. After several unanswered calls, short and curt text messages from him had been the only communication, which did nothing to help with Dean's already irritable disposition.

" _I'm gonna to kick his skinny ass"_ was muttered more times than Sam cared to remember.

Now, facing the left-overs of his abandoned hunt, Sam was inclined to repeat those exact words. With a few choice four-lettered additions.

~oOoOoOoOoOo~

Dean laughed a full-bellied laugh. Head tilted back, teeth exposed, he slapped the bar top for punctuation. He fought for breath "No" he wheezed "That scene where Larry hits on that chick" he wipes at his eyes "and she tells him to fuck off" he collapses in laughter again. " _That_ was the funniest bit".

The waitress was red in the face from giggling. She had her one hand over her mouth, and the other on Dean's forearm.

They had been swapping tales for over two hours now. And had inevitably come around to favourites.

Favourite band, movie, actors, now, favourite scene from a comedy film. Dean had chosen Weekend at Bernie's. She had chosen Cheech and Chong.

Evie had not had a table the whole shift and had whiled away the time chatting with Dean.

Between his first beer and fourth whiskey shot, they had become fast friends.

"Oh god" Dean gasped "I need to re-watch that movie, man". He took a swig from his warm beer. He grimaced, shoving the almost empty bottle away.

"Another one?" Evie asked smiling, cocking her head so that her brown curls fell over her shoulder.

He waved with his hand in the negative, still swallowing at the tepid drink. This had been the third bar he had hit, gently probing for leads. Sometimes blending in got more information than breaking out the badges. He sat back in his barstool "I gotta go. Been here too long already". He smiled at her "But, say what - I promised my brother I would get lunch, so say I bring him 'round, and I see you in an hour or so?".

Her eyes flicked over his head to the clock on the far wall, and she shook her head. "Lunch is long gone, babe. My shift ends in about 20 minutes."

Dean blinked. He looked at his watch. _Fuck!_ It was past 3 already. How the hell did the time go by so fast? "Crap" he muttered. Smiling, he offered Evie a folded up bill for his drinks. "Dinner then?" he chanced.

"Maybe" she flirted. She bit her lower lip, considered him for a while, then said "I need do some stuff later. Hang around here till 8. I will be done then". Her smile was a promise.

"Done" Dean was grinning.

He swung off the stool in one fluid motion and walked towards the door, giving Evie one more dazzling smile over his shoulder before he exited.

As he marched to the car, he fished out his phone from his pocket. _Sam's gonna be pissed._

He unlocked the screen, expecting to find a pile of missed calls and messages. Nothing.

"Huh" he mused. While unexpected, Sam's leniency was welcomed _. I'm gonna buy Sammy an extra-large salad as thanks._

He snickered at his own humour.

As he slid onto the warm leather of his car's front seat, he looked back at the bar.

He had been routinely poking for information from the barman, and had somehow ended up in a Led Zeppelin vs Black Sabbath debate with Evie.

She was sharp, and funny. And she cut right through his bullshit. She had met him pound for pound on music trivia. And when she started talking about classic cars… then he was sold.

This ass-backwards town with its vamp problem might be the best thing to pass his way in a while.

 _Thank_ you _Garth!_

He considered for a second getting take-out for Sam, and leaving him in the motel room to work, but guilt got the best of him. He already forgot lunch, the least he could do was buy the dude a decent sit-down dinner, considering the poor bastard washed his toxic socks without dying.

And if Evie arrives, he will make an exit.

 _Yes._

~oOoOoOoOo~

Sam sat with his fork hovering over his onion rings, reading the screen of his laptop. The dim overhead bar lights making the screen difficult to see properly. He had spent the entire day piecing together the threads that Garth left behind.

"Ok so", he started, "there doesn't seem to be a nest in the traditional sense. Seems they have a kill spot. But get this –", he pointed at Dean with the fork, "they live in town. Like regular folk." He waited for a response.

Dean, however, was looking behind Sam at the door. Again.

Glaring at him, Sam sighed irritably, "Seriously?"

Snapped from his daydream, Dean reached for his beer, "What?"

Sam wiggled the fork between in fingers in irritation. He chose his words carefully. "Can we please focus on the reason why we are here? People are dying". The exhaled slowly through his nose. He was tired, and annoyed.

"No, totally", Dean replied, faking interest. Eyes flicking to the door again. He shoved fries into his mouth.

Setting his jaw against the words he wanted to shout, Sam pushed on, "So far, 7 people in the last 5 months. Garth did some legwork, tracked one vamp into town. Lost him here. He reckons the local cops might be in on it….. Dean?! "

The older hunter's eyes snapped back from the door again. He drew a breath to say something, paused, grinned sheepishly, then said, "Listen, man. I'm sorry 'bout leaving you to do all the work today-"

"Okay?"

"-and, I know you're gonna be pissed-"

"Dean?"

"-But, man… There's this chick…"

Sam rolled his eyes. Of course there was. People were dying, and Dean wanted to get laid. "We are _working_ Dean!" he fisted his hand on the table, fork vertical. This was not cool.

Dean put his hands up in defence, "I know. I know. But… Ok, listen. I'll make you a deal. I'll be back at the motel by midnight.." he looked pleadingly at his brother, "Promise".

Sam simply glared at him. They had so much on their plates right now. Kevin. Crowley. Demon tablet. Slamming the gates of hell… and Dean wants to get some ass. He drew an exasperated breath "Fine. But you and I are having a discussion tomorrow. This shit is not on".

Dean smiled his brightest smile "You are a gentleman and a scholar, Sammy". His eyes flicked to the door again.

 _She was here._

He grinned at Sam, swept his beer off the table, smacked money down, and got up.

"Don't wait up" he slapped Sam on the shoulder as he walked past.

Sam turned to see what the hubbub was about, and saw a brunette in a tanktop, denim mini skirt and cowboy boots, smiling coyly a his brother as he made his way through the tables towards her.

They made their way to the bar, Dean's hand on the small of her back, guiding her on to the stool.

Sam turned back to his work, shaking his head. He would never deny Dean a good time with a woman, but they were on a case. One that another hunter abandoned mysteriously. Lives were at stake.

On the other hand, seeing Dean in such a good mood, smiling, made up for a guaranteed groggy and irritable big brother the next day. He _knew_ Dean wouldn't be back by midnight and he _knew_ the whiskey and shots would flow all night. The hangover was going to be a good one.

 _And I will have to deal with him._

He looked up at the sound of Dean's raucous laughter drifting over the din of the bar. The woman had her hand on his arm, two fingers slipped under the rolled up sleeve. She was smiling, her eyes intent in Dean's.

 _Dear god._ Sam though. _She has no idea what she's letting herself in for._

Exhaustion was suddenly upon him. His eyes burning, small of his back aching. He had pretty much been awake since yesterday afternoon. Time to call it a day.  
Snapping his laptop shut, he threw back the last dregs of his beer.

Looking towards the bar, he hoped to catch Dean's eye to let him know that he was leaving, but his brother had his back to him, and was vigorously gesticulating, much to the amusement of his date.

Tucking the laptop under his arm, Sam pulled his jacket from the back of his chair, and half-glanced at Dean, and stopped. He saw something out of the corner of his eye. He snapped his head around.

He could have sworn the brunette had just shot him a look of pure hatred.

He stared at her, bug-eyed. Watched her talking and nodding at Dean. Had he just imagine that?

He tilted his head, as if a different angle of seeing would reveal the truth. His instincts was singing. He started to make his way towards the bar, then thought better of it.

He was tired. He had been deciphering Garth's crap all day. He was being paranoid.

He stood indecisively for a few seconds, fingers drumming on the outside of the laptop, then shrugged on his jacket, and made his way out the door in a few long strides.

Once outside, he realised two things: Dean had the car keys, and _he_ had the motel room keys.

Sam smiled to himself. The motel was four blocks away - he could walk that without breaking a sweat.

Dean, however, would be drunk as a weasel at whatever time he crawled back. He would be too embarrassed to wake Sam up, so he would have to pick the lock of the motel room to get in.

 _Sweet justice._

Tucking his free hand into the pocket of his jacket, Sam started his way towards the motel, still smiling to himself.

~oOoOoOoOoOo~

It was 2:34 am and Dean was sitting in the Impala, listening to the idling engine. He had been sitting like this for a few minutes already, in the quiet motel parking lot. Staring blindly at the deep shadows, the lights glinting off the dew on the cars. For some reason, he couldn't turn the engine off just yet. The low rumble and the vibration through the seat, was the kind of comfort that he needed right now.

Right hand on the steering wheel, left hand in his jacket pocket, he fingered the watch resting inside.

Earlier, just short of 11pm, two German tourists had found their way into the bar. They were obviously loaded and Dean had seen a chance to make a quick buck with a hustle.

So when Mr Tourist had leaned over the pool table to rack the balls, the expensive looking watch had caught Dean's eye.

Not that it was his style really - too gadgety. He liked his watches simple. Practical.

No, this was Sam's kind of thing. All knobs and dials and buttons.

Dean had run his usual schtick: lose a few games, up the stakes, then clean the poor bastards out.

Evie had seen through his game though, and had given him sly grins all through the hustle. She sat by the bar and cheered mightily whenever he pocketed a ball, then gave him a lingering kiss when he won the last game in a clean sweep.

He walked away with a watch for Sam, and $400. Not a bad haul. And the gushing admiration of the prettiest girl in the bar.

As he sat recalling his night in the eeriness of the early hours, he frowned. He and Evie had never made it out of the bar. He had thought she would have dragged him off to her place as soon as Sam left, but they ended up talking about cars and sport and guns for hours on end instead.

She had been completely captivating. Her eyes had turned his legs jelly, and his brain mush. Which was something he had not experienced since… well… forever.

"Don't get all dewy, Winchester", he muttered to himself through a grin, awkward at his own emotions.

Pulling the watch from his pocket, he held it to the light. He had intended to buy Sam some new shirts, as an subtle thank-you for doing his laundry, but this watch seemed more fitting.

He was embarrassed to admit, that he had not even noticed the constant supply of clean clothes in his drawers. Whenever he needed clean socks, they were simply there.

And Sam had not once bitched about it. _This kid will never cease to surprise me._

Turning off the engine finally, he tucked the timepiece back into his pocket. He was dying to wake up Sam right now, to give it to him. But he would wait till they were back home, at the bunker, so he could hand it over properly.

He was not as drunk as he had expected to be, he realised as he walked in the chill air to the motel room.  
Evie had not plied him with drink, and he had sipped slowly on his beers. He had been _responsible_ even. _The horror._  
And when she had kissed him goodnight, they were both sober enough to exchange phone numbers and promises of dinner the next day. He had watched her get into her car, and waved sweetly at him as she drove off.

Normally, he would have been disappointed that the date had not panned out as he had hoped. But the company and banter had been wholly fulfilling in itself. Sex could quite possibly have been the low point of this evening, if it had transpired.

 _You are definitely getting old, Dean._

He knelt in front of the motel room door. He had let Sam leave with the key. Well, he had only realised that the keys were in Sam's pocket around midnight, but nobody needed to know.  
And in any case, the logistics for juggling one room key was just too much to manage when a hot chick was demanding your attention.

Lock-pick in hand, he considered just knocking on the door, waking Sam up, but he decided to not be dick - after all, it was after 2am, and Sam would most likely give him an earful.

The lock undid without much effort. He slid it open quietly, closing it in the same manner.

The room was dim. The TV playing on mute was casting the room in flickering shadows.

" _Sam?" ,_ he whispered. He knew his brother would not wake up completely, but even just the subconscious re-assurance of his safe return would be enough. He knew what if felt like, waking up in the middle of the night, not knowing where Sam was, that cold feeling of dread.

" _Sam, I'm back",_ he squinted into dark. He listened for a grunt, the rustle of sheets. All he could hear was the swish of blood past his ears.

"Sam?" he said louder, "You hearin' me?" He started towards the farthest bed.

It was empty.

He frowned, "..the hell?"

He looked towards the bathroom. The door was open.

He stepped up to the bed. It had definitely been slept in.

He flicked on the lamp on the bedside table.

"Sam?" he said out loud, even though his sibling was obviously not in the room.

 _Where the fuck did he go now?_

Annoyed, he pulled out his phone. If Sam hadn't left him a message, he was going to fucking tear him a new one. He didn't mind the odd midnight soda run, but let a dude know at least!

One message from Sam. 10:22pm. _Just saved yourself a serious ass-kicking, dude._

Dean tapped on the screen, and an image loaded. He sat down on the bed and started kicking off his boots.

Then he went cold, and it felt like his entire world had reduced to the luminescence of the phone.

The image on his phone showed Sam tied to a chair, knife to his throat and unconscious. His head was being held up by the hair.

Dean launched to his feet. A cold fear cascaded over the back of his neck.

Dean's ears pounded with his heartbeat. A universe of scenarios raced through his head at once. Abduction? By who? What do they want? Is Sam ok? Is he alive?

His thumb hovering over the screen. He blinked, his eyes refusing to believe what he was seeing. He scrolled the message up, found text below the image: _Back off._

He scrolled back to the picture again. _Sammy._ This was bad. This was really, really bad. Nobody but the most brazen monster would do this to hunter, to a Winchester.

Instinctively, he dialled Sam's phone, and shoved it to his ear with a trembling hand. It went directly to voicemail. "Dammit!" Dean shouted, nearly flinging his phone in anger.

He looked around the room, desperate for anything to jump out at him, for an explanation - a clue as to where his brother was now.

His mind raced.

Back off from what? From the hunt? The Hell Gate trials? What?

He started pacing, his hands twitching to make something bleed. His shoulders taut with growing anxiety.

At this time of the morning, the motel desk clerk won't let him anywhere near the surveillance tapes, so trying to find anything from the cameras on the parking lot will have to wait till morning.

He couldn't track the phone - it had obviously been turned off.

 _Garth._

He dialled the other hunter's number, not caring for the ungodly hour.

It rang, went to voice mail. He dialled again. The same result. He was pacing up and down the room, in a vain attempt to control the myriad of emotions threatening to explode from him.

"Screw you, Garth! Answer your phone!"

After the fifth attempt, the line was picked up.

"Garth?"

" _Dean."_

There was no time for pleasantries. "Sam's gone. And you have been dodgy as fuck about this case. What the hell is going on?"

Silence.

Dean ground his teeth in frustration "So help me, you bastard. Start talkin', or I will break every bone in your face!" he was breathing shaking, raspy breaths.

" _Dean….."_ his voice was small, _"I had to leave…. The vamps…. They are in deep with the authorities. I think…." h_ e stalled.

"Yes?"

An audible breath. _"Dean, they knew where my mother lived. They…. told me to back off…. Sent me a picture of her front yard…"_ he trailed off.

"So you bailed?" Dean was not giving any quarter. "You bailed and left Sam and me to deal with your crap?" he ran his hand over his face. They had walked into this blind. "You know what Garth? Screw you."

" _It was my mother Dean, I had to…."_

"Save it!" he growled. "You will tell me _everything_ you know. And I mean everything"

~oOoOoOoOoOoOo~

Dean had watched the surveillance video for the ninth time. And there was still nothing of any worth. His finger hovered over the mouse, ready to pause the footage at the merest indication of _anything_.

Muscles were jumping under the skin of his jaw. His eyes red rimmed with lack of sleep and the after effects of a smoke-filled bar. He rubbed at them with the palm of his hand, and lingered for a second while he drew a halting breath.

Whenever he closed his eyes, the image of Sam on that chair was engraved behind his eyelids. There was blood under his nose. And seemingly coming from his hairline. His lips slightly parted as his head was being pulled back.

 _Keep it together man. No use losing it now_. A mantra to keep him calm. If he gave in to his fears, his panic, he would be no good to Sam. No matter how many times they have brushed with evil, with death, no matter how many times they have had supernatural assistance in returning from the dead. The idea of Sam hurting, _suffering_ …. It paralysed Dean with a fear that nobody can understand.

He drew a steadying breath, and returned to the task at hand.

Between the time Sam arrived, till the time Dean returned, there was nothing. Nobody came to their door. Nobody even looked remotely suspicious.

The desk clerk stuck his head through the door.

"Listen man, Mr. Owens is gonna be back any minute…"

Dean waved him off, "Yeah ok. I'm going". He looked at the screen one last time, as if something was going to pop up that wasn't there before. He had bribed the kid at the front to see the footage, claiming someone had messed with his car overnight.

He would have flashed a badge, but after what Garth had told him about the local cops, he didn't want to raise flags.

He walked into the parking lot, and squinted at the tarmac again. How could Sam just disappear? There was only one door. There was no way he could have gotten out of the bathroom window, and the other windows were barred.

Unless….. _unless the surveillance footage was tampered with._

Dean turned on his heel to go shake the kid up, then stopped. He was a good enough judge of people to know that the kid was not involved in this.

As the long hours had passed till he could see the tapes, he had tried to make sense of what Garth had told him.

Vampires. Living in town like normal folk. And who were also in deep with the local cops. So, they fit in, and their kills were neatly covered up. Sweet setup.

No wonder they did not want hunters coming in and messing it up. Normal vamps have nests that can up and go at a moment's notice. This lot was settled. They had structure.

Dejected, Dean started toward the motel room again. He had no leads. Nothing. He could not count on help from the local law enforcement. Hell, anybody could be in on the take.

He slammed the door shut louder than needed, and slumped down on a bed. Sam's bed. Unconsciously choosing to be close to his brother in any way he could.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and put his head in his hand. He felt utterly helpless. The silence of the room deafening.

Activating his phone screen, Dean's chest tightened at the sight of a still-empty inbox. Nothing from Sam's kidnappers. Nothing from Garth.

Every minute of Sam's absence made him more panicked. What do they want? Why haven't they called for a ransom, a demand? Anything?

He scrolled through the contacts, and tapped his thumb on Castiel's number again. _"Please pick up"_ he whispered, his forehead resting in his palm. But it just rang as the 6 times before, and went to voicemail. He hesitated, swallowed down the emotion in his throat, then said "Cas…. It's Sam. He's….. I need you, man. Call me. Please". He held the phone to his ear, until end of message tone sounded.

The panic was threatening to overwhelm him. These vampires were anything if not thorough. They had taken absolute care to cover their tracks to make sure Dean would not find them.

Vampires… _Benny!_

He dialled his friend's number from memory. The line rang 3 times, when the husky drawl on the other end answered _"Hey brother. Mighty good hearin' from you."_

The familiar voice was an utter lifeline, and Dean had to take a deep breath to speak.

"Benny…". He could only manage one word before his emotion chocked his throat.

The vampire knew Dean well enough, to tell that something was very wrong. _"Dean, what is it? What's wrong?"_

"It's Sam, he's…."

" _He's coming for me? Is it time?"_ Benny interrupted, expecting the worst.

"No, no" Dean corrected him. "He's been taken. By Vamps." Saying it out loud took the breath from him. "I don't know what to do man. I got nothing. No leads. No nothing".

A hesitation. _"Where you at?"_

"Louisiana"

" _Text me locale. I can be there in 6 hours"_

~oOoOoOoOoOo~

Benny watched the tarmac race towards him, only to disappear under the nose of the car. The rumble of the engine accompanied by the tyres on the road created an almost hypnotic lullaby.

He glanced over to Dean who was gripping the steering wheel in a fist, arm locked at the elbow, his jaw set grimly. His phone was laying in his free hand - he had been checking it religiously every ten minutes.

Dean's voice over the phone earlier had spoken volumes. His face when he had opened the door, had nearly broke Benny's heart.

In Purgatory they had gone days without rest. Bloody, exhausted, assailed from all sides. Even though he had seen Dean anxious or fearful then, he had never seen him like this.

His eyes darted around like a scared deer, and when Dean looked at him…. a pleading. A helplessness.

Benny had intended to hug him in greeting when he arrived, but it had turned into a gesture of support instead, Dean gripping him a little longer than necessary before thumping him on the back and pulling away.

After that it had been a whirlwind of papers, maps and computers.

Benny had spent most of his time sitting quietly by the table, watching Dean pacing between his laptop and the wall where the map and newspaper clippings were arranged.

In their initial conversation, Benny had indicated that he would be able to smell Sam, if he could get into a 2 mile radius of where he was being kept. That had encouraged Dean and had set the tone of his subsequent research and planning.

Benny took a deep breath of the air gliding in the partially open car window. The scents of the pine forests and all the creatures in it like a fine perfume.

As he had driven into town some hours earlier, he had already taken care to smell the air carefully. There had been domesticated animals of all kinds - dogs, cats, horses. A very faint trace of werewolf, though very stale.

And vampire.

Vampires tend to smell like the makers who created them, so nests tended to all smell alike. But nowadays, very few vampires held to the old ways of keeping well-organised nests, never mind selective 'breeding'. Most moved around a lot, sometimes because they got bored, but mostly because they were greedy, and killed sloppily. Hunters would be on their trail within weeks of arriving in a town.

The old ways, were elegant.

A nest master would create a stronghold for his kin. He would be selective about who he turns. They would hunt in an organised fashion. They had networks in place to divert hunters from their scents.

He had remembered, for a brief moment, his own nest's scent. It was like a signature of his maker, and those who were his children.

And then he frowned. The vampire scent he was picking up in town was very strong. This indicated a well-established nest. Or worse: an old nest, which meant bad news for Dean. And a very slim chance that Sam was still alive.

He had contemplated telling Dean the moment he walked into the motel room, but the sheer hope on the hunter's face had taken the breath out of him, so instead he had watched his old friend weave an intricate pattern out of the jumble of nonsense his brother had left behind.

Within 3 hours of Benny's arrival, Dean was ready to action a plan.

"Here", he pointed on the map with a big red marker, "is a house Garth identified as a vamp hole." He dotted four more houses, "These too". He walked over to his laptop, swung it around to face Benny and pointed at the screen showing him an aerial view of the town and surrounds.

"Now, let's assume these vamps are smart enough not to kill in-town - they need a safe place to keep their food. Right?"

Benny nodded in agreement.

"So, they have a good gig going here. No need to travel too far. I'd say, max five miles. Ten at a push". He circled the town with his finger, "So I checked out abandoned farm houses - about three - but there is only one farm registered to one of these people living in the fang houses in town." He pinned Benny with a hard stare.

"Good work, brother", Benny applauded Dean cautiously, "What's the plan?"

Benny's encouragement gave Dean momentum. "You said you can sniff Sam out. So, we leave now, drive out there to that farm, you give it a smell. If there's nothing there, we hit up the abandoned ones. That way, we find the vamps, we find Sam and be back by dinner." There was no humour in his voice. His eyes challenged Benny to disagree.

"Let's go, chief." Benny secured his sailors cap on his head as he rose from the chair. He settled his sunglasses on his nose as he opened the door to lead Dean out to hunt.

Benny looked back at the road and sighed. The sight of Dean's desperate determination was too painful for him to look at.

If this vampire nest was an old one, or even a mildly organised one, they would have drained Sam by now and buried his body. Furthermore, they would have left town last night. The message they sent Dean wasn't a challenge, or a threat - it was an instruction. They had no reason to keep Sam alive. They didn't need leverage. They needed to send a message. And it was sent. It was over.

Dean shifted, and Benny looked over again. He was slowing the car down.

"Here", Dean said, indicating a dirt road leading into the pines, with a single hand-painted wooden sign that read 'Benton'.

Dean guided the car on to the dirt track. The road was in reasonable condition - not too rutted with ditches and holes filled with gravel. It was used often.

Dean glanced over at Benny. They exchanged a look. They had both noticed the same thing.

The car ambled easily along, the suspension creaking on occasion. To Benny it sounded like a herd of sheep being mauled, but Dean did not seem to notice. Then again, Benny could hear a human heartbeat at ten paces.

After about a mile, Dean spotted a glint of windows through the trees, and immediately shut down the engine, letting the Impala roll to a stop.

He was breathing heavily. He looked over to Benny again. _Anything?_

Benny made a show of inhaling the air, for Dean's sake. He could smell the death. Dean was going to find only pain here.

His nod was the silent catalyst to launch Dean from the car. They had already primed the gear at the motel, so he immediately started working his way towards the farmhouse at the end of the dirt road the moment he exited the car.

Benny followed behind him. Dean had equipped him with a machete. He had not asked Benny if he wanted to join in the hunt, wanted to kill his kinsman. But Benny had simply taken the blade without question. He would kill his own mother for this man.

They quickly settled into Purgatory mode: Benny behind checking their six, Dean in front, pushing through the underbrush.

"Nobody here", Benny reported as they reached the edge of the clearing where the house stood. He didn't look at Dean.

"You sure?"

"Yeah", the vampire assured him.

Dean's fear was rising in his chest, he breathed hard to suppress all out panic. _Sam._

Benny could be wrong. Sam could be in there, hurt, scared. "Let's go" he said, already moving.

The door was not locked, in fact, it was standing open. The place looked well-maintained. The furniture was relatively clean. Nothing was broken or tipped over.

Dean walked over to the fireplace, held his hand over the ashes. "Still warm", he said, looking up at his friend.

Benny nodded and moved around the farmhouse, machete held at the ready.

Dean resumed working his way through the house. There were plenty of windows. It was airy and well-lit. Not the dark and musty death trap he had envisioned it would be. In a different situation, he would have enjoyed spending a weekend here.

Benny returned from the back of the house, his heavy booted feet creaking the floorboards. Nothing, as he had predicted.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a second. "Fuck", he muttered, discouraged. He sheathed his own blade and caught the look on Benny's face.

"What?" Dean asked the vampire.

"There's a basement", he answered.

Dean looked around "I don't see the door".

"It's here", Benny said, looking at the floorboards, "I can smell the blood"

Dean seemed to pale. _Blood?_

"Find it", he said through a clenched jaw. Sam's in there. He's hurt. _I'm coming Sammy, hang on._

Benny announced he found the basement entrance from the kitchen. Dean strode over in hurried steps. He stopped in surprize that Benny was just standing there, and had not opened it yet.

He frowned questioningly at him.

Benny seemed uncomfortable. His big hands fidgeting at his sides. "Dean…", he started.

Dean could sense that something was very wrong. His blood was racing in his ears. "What? Benny!?"

The vampire swallowed, pinned him with sad blue eyes, "Brother… I smell only death here."

Dean was breathless, "Ok? And?" He wanted to scream for Sam at this instant. Why couldn't this damn fang just open the fucking door?!

Benny's gaze did not waver. "I smell Sam here." He held out his hand when Dean started towards him and door. "Dean. I smell death. His death."

Dean looked like he had received a physical blow. The air seemed to leave him. Eyes searching Benny's, his strength draining from his body. He trusted this vampire implicitly. He knew Benny would not lie. Not about this. It felt like he couldn't breathe, like a vice was crushing the life right out of him.

"Where is he?" Dean managed.

"Gone"

"What do you mean gone?!" Dean shouted, taking a threatening step towards the vampire. He wanted Sam. He wanted his brother. Dead or alive. Death was a relative thing for them. If he could just have Sam's body. He needed to see him.

His desperation was tangible.

"Gone, Dean", Benny took a step towards him, hands open in a disarming gesture. "I smell his death here. But not his body." He reached Dean, gripped the hunter's biceps. "Dean", he made sure to keep Dean's gaze, "I'm sorry. There's nothing here".

Dean didn't hear the words. His heart had dropped through his ribs. All he could hear was a drumming in his head. His world narrowed to the vampire's blue eyes fixing him with devastating truth.

 _Sammy._

~oOoOoOoOoOo~


	2. Chapter 2

Dean leaned against the bunker door to close it, his arms overburdened with bags and equipment. The shriek of the hinges echoed off the halls below.

Braced like this, he stared unseeingly at the steady light pouring in the library below, the only sound his breathing and the hum of electricity.

He was numb with exhaustion. The drive home had been a battle to stay awake, punctuated by the constant influx of calls from other Hunters bringing information, offering advice - some of it helpful, most of it not.

In the nine days since Sam's abduction, his life had been a mindless rush of phone calls, research and adrenaline. Dean had practically torn up the town looking for information. He roughed up a few suspect-looking individuals, bribed away hundreds of dollars, got into two fights, broke into at least five houses and nearly got arrested. He had accomplished pissing off a Hunter from two towns over who turned up to help, and left as soon as he arrived after Dean threatened to empty a clip in his face as motivation.

Dean was beyond tired. The weight of his fear and panic had ground his nerves raw. His eyes were bloodshot and wild. He hadn't shaved in over a week and his hair sat in an unruly mess on his head.

He had fought tooth and nail to find the truth. To find his brother.

Every possible lead was a dead end. It was like Sam had never even been in that goddamn town. And finally, after nearly blacking out from exhaustion, he realised he had been going non-stop for eight days fuelled by coffee, narcotics and pure cold fear. Whatever sleep he had gotten, was fitful and brief.

Dean drew in a shaky breath, willing himself into action, he walked heavily down the stairs, burdened by his and Sam's baggage, and crushing worry.

As he reached the library, he tipped his shoulders to deposit the bags on to the nearest table and did not care that it crushed the pages of at least two ancient tomes in the process. Drawing the closest chair out, he sunk into it. His shoulders felt no less heavy for being relieved of their cargo.

Resting his elbows on the table, he ground the palms of his hands into his eyes, attempting to rub away the gritty tiredness. He could have easily slept like this, right there and then. Just switch off. Forget the hole in his chest, the constant chill in his gut.

"You gotta sleep", he muttered to himself. _You are no good to Sam like this._

Lifting his groggy head from his hands with a weary sigh, he leaned back in the chair, his eyes staring unfocused at the table in front of him. Discomfort beneath his hand on the table drew his attention. A notepad.

Frowning, he pulled it closer.

It was covered in scribbles in Sam's handwriting, pentagrams and random sigils. Evidence of his brother's absentminded doodles. The word 'trials' framed by a drawn rectangle, etched so deep it pushed through two layers of paper.

Dean ran his thumb over it, feeling the design his brother had made.

When Sam wrote this down, he was safe. He was unharmed. He was where Dean could look after him. And now…

His hand twitched. It wanted to reach for his phone again so that he could subject himself to the punishment that was the picture of Sam in the hands of unknown captors, and immerse himself in the pain and doubt of his failure to keep his brother safe. And every time he looked at his sibling's unconscious form, the blood on his face, it fired him anew to keep going. To not give up. It reminded him that his brother was out there, somewhere, counting on Dean to save him.

 _I will find you_ _,_ _Sammy. So help me, I will find you, and I will kill each filthy fang I along the way._

He had called every Hunter he could think of, even those who had sworn to blow his knee-caps off should they meet again. He had, at first, given all the information he could think of - every minute detail - but as each phone call ended with either, 'sorry, can't help you', or 'will let you know if I hear anything', he had condensed his inquiry to simple facts.

Clive from Wichita had called one morning, said he had tangled with a similar situation some years back: a well organised nest, also living among humans, blending in. They had slaughtered six Hunters in a space of two years and then disappeared. He had tried to track them for months but could never get a fix.

Dean got a mail from Garth with random information about similar cases.

No Hunter had ever successfully tracked the nest after they had left town, and no Hunter who had found them ever lived, unless it was the vamps' intention to leave them alive.

Benny had stayed around for a few days, offering support and helping where he could. But when Benny told him, again, that Sam was gone, that the nest had no reason to keep him alive, Dean had swung a fist at his friend. Driven by fear and grief, he needed to believe Sam was alive and Benny's constant reminder of his failure…. It had driven him beyond breaking.

They had scuffled briefly, the vampire easily fending off Dean's exhausted, desperate assault. After Dean had collapsed, his anger spent, Benny has simply collected his jacket from the table and silently left.

Dean had meant to call him after that, to apologise, but somehow he never managed to dial the number. Benny's mere voice over the phone would be proof that Sam was gone. That Sam might be….

Dean pushed off the table and hauled himself out of the chair. Shouldering all the bags full of clothes and equipment on to his shoulders again, he made his way to his bedroom. The silence of the bunker a distinct reminder of how very absent his brother was.

~oOoOoOoOo~

 _Sam came walking from the trees, hair in his eyes, grin_ _upon_ _his face. The sleeves of his shirt too long over his knuckles._

 _He was cradling something in his palm._

" _Look" he said, extending his hand, revealing a stone arrowhead to his brother._

" _What is it?" Dean asked, taking it from Sam._

" _It's an Indian arrowhead. They're knapped from obsidian. Volcanic glass. Obsidian is formed when lava cools really fast"_ _,_ _he stared wide-eyed at the piece of stone._

 _Dean snorted "You are such a geek"_ _. H_ _e smiled proudly at this know-it-all little brother, tousling his hair._

 _Sam pretended to be annoyed at the act, but smiled while batting_ _away_ _his brother's hand._

" _Whatcha gonna do with it?" Dean enquired absently while easily out_ _-_ _manoeuvring Sam's attempts to fend him off._

" _It's yours"_ _,_ _Sam answered, finally grabbing his brother's wrist. "_ _Y_ _ou keep it"._

 _Dean used Sam's grip his arm to yank him off balance, causing the kid to fall against his sibling. He quickly grabbed Sam in a loose chokehold._

" _Thanks_ _,_ _Indiana Jones"_ _,_ _he encircled Sam's chest with his free arm, lifting him off his feet "I will use it to hunt monsters_ _._ _"_

 _Sam squirmed in his brother's playful grip, leaning his head back against his_ _Dean_ _'s chest, laughing out loud._

 _Spinning him around with ease, Dean swung his little brother over his shoulder_ _._ _"Come_ _,_ _nerd. Dad's waiting"._

 _He walked down the path, making sure to bounce Sam more than is needed. Gripping handfuls of Dean's jacket, the boy's giggles punctuated with a hiccup each time his brother's foot hit the forest floor._

Dean slowly emerged into wakefulness. He smelled pine and wet forest. He smiled groggily.

He drew a deep breath, the dream slipping away from him.The reality of the bunker intruding on the residue of his memories.

Opening his eyes, he was met with the slightly mottled ceiling of his bedroom. The smile faded from his lips, lines of worry instantly re-appearing on his brow.

Turning his head, he brought his hand closer to his face. Something was pressing against his closed palm. For a brief moment, his dream lingering, he thought it was the arrowhead. Opening his fist, the silver of Sam's watch caught the light. _He must have fallen asleep with it in his hand._

Reaching for his phone, a pen and notepad tumbled off the blankets and clattered on the floor. He had continued working until his body had betrayed him to sleep.

Unlocking his phone with one hand, he reached for the glass of whiskey with the other. Throwing back the tepid spirit, he grimaced at the burn in his throat.

4 messages. Garth…. Micheals….. unknown…. Micheals again.

8 emails. He would check those later on the laptop. He still felt too clumsy to try and navigate the email app on the phone's tiny screen.

He opened the text from Garth  
 _P_ _ossible travelling vamp nest. Need more info. Will let you know._

"Thanks for nothing", Dean muttered darkly as he closed the message. Garth had been falling over himself to help. Never having the courage to speak to Dean in person, he sent mails and text messages with every minute speck of information he could find.

Dean had yet to respond to a single one.

He tapped on the thread from Micheals.  
 _Hunting vamp tonight in Utah. Will keep one on ice for you._

He checked the timestamp: 10:52pm. _Crap_. He would have joined them if he had seen this message.

Next message:

 _05:30am - Call me. It's important._

Not wasting time, Dean dialled immediately. The line rang twice before it was picked up.

" _Dean?"_ Micheals answered.

"Yeah" Dean was desperate for good news _._

" _L_ _isten_ _,_ _man. I'm sorry…"_

"What? What is it? What did you find?" he fought with the blankets around his legs as he scrambled out of bed.

"… _. Sam's wallet. We found it. I'm sorry Dean. There was dried blood on it. A lot of dried bl….."_

"Is he there?" Dean cut him off. "Did you find him?" he was practically screaming over the phone.

There was silence on the line for a while, then Micheals said _"I think he's dead, son. These vamps…. They are nasty pieces of…."_

Dean had to support himself with a hand against the wall, he had trouble breathing. "You _think_? Thinking ain't gonna cut it. Is there a body, Micheals? Is there proof?!"

" _There's proof enough_ _._ _"_

The older Hunter apologised again, and then hung up.

Dean kept the phone against his ear, eyes screwed shut, willing the line to produce what he wanted to hear. Instead the silence was sickening.

He jumped when a text message came through, deafening against his ear. It was Micheals again with an address, and a re-assurance that they had a vamp that may have more information for him.

Dean immediately swung into action, pulling weapons from their places on the wall, a duffel from under his bed, stuffing everything he could think of into it.

There was no time for a shower. He just grabbed the essential toiletries and shoved them in-between ammunition and sharps.

He pulled his sweats over his head with one arm, and opened the dresser drawer with the other hand. Reaching inside for a clean shirt, he paused as his fingers made contact with the cotton.

Slowly pulling a plaid shirt from the drawer, it unfolded, releasing a faint smell of detergent.

Dropping the sweats on the floor, Dean took the clean shirt in both hands like it was a sacred thing.

He ran his thumb over the raised threads. Pulling the drawer open further, his throat worked as he swallowed hard, seeing three rows of neatly folded and stacked shirts, with rolled up pairs of socks in between.

This was Sam's handiwork. His little brother had folded these, after he had washed them, without being asked. Picked them off his slob big brother's bedroom floor, without complaining. Something so typical of Sam, that Dean often forgot how selfless and accommodating his sibling was.

Dean knew he took Sam for granted. Gave him hell for no reason. Mocked him for being sensitive. But if it wasn't for Sam, Dean would have given up ages ago. He would never admit, to anyone, but Sam's annoying 'talks' had saved him more times than he cared to remember.

 _What if I never see him again?_

"No!" he growled, shoving the drawer closed, angry at his betrayal of Sam. The moment he believed his brother was dead, was the moment he would slip away from him. He _had_ to keep believing – hoping - Sam was out there. And he would find him, and bring him home.

~oOoOoOo~

Dean grimly dropped his duffel on the grimy wooden table. The contents of bottles, blades and syringes clanking together. He was here for one purpose, and it was a gruesome one.

He loathed to torture. It made his skin crawl. Partly because it reminded him of hell, but mostly because deep down, he knew he enjoyed the power he held over his victims.

His back was toward a slumped form tied to a chair. He had walked right past the vamp - didn't look at it, did not even give attention to what was to be seen from his peripheral vision.

As he began extracting the contents of the bag, his hands trembled. He fisted them both in the canvas of the duffel, willing his muscles to stop shivering.

He needed to be calm. He needed to be methodical. His every nerve shouted desperation. Every second wasted, was a second Sam was alone and hurt, a second that Dean couldn't protect him.

When Dean had arrived at the address Micheals had sent him, the atmosphere was jovial. Four other hunters were sitting playing cards and drinking. It had been a good hunt, and the bodies of the ganked fangs was already a smouldering in pile outside.

Micheals had waved Dean aside, his face taut with sympathy. He had handed Dean his brother's wallet, and resting his hand on the younger Hunter's shoulder for a brief moment, he walked away without saying anything.

Dean had been anticipating this. He had imagined how he would feel. How he would react to seeing Sam's possession covered in, quite possibly, his own blood. Of all it would imply.

But what he hadn't anticipated, was the immediate dread that hit him when dried blood flaked off on his palm. Or the tears that started burning behind his eyes. It was just a wallet - a beat up thing Sam had been carrying forever - but at that moment, it was as if Dean was holding Sam's very soul, mangled and bloody.

It shook him, so when the other Hunters indicated that there was a live vamp in the next room, Dean had to walk outside to calm down, to not rip the dirty monster limb from limb with his bare hands.

Now, as he was breathing deep and evenly, he knew that this vampire would tell him what he needed to know. He knew that Sam would be home by the end of the week and this would be just another nightmare to add to the tally.

Dean started to methodically arrange his tools on the table in front of him, the ritual adding to his calm. He could hear the creak of ropes against wood behind him. The vamp was awake. He could feel its eyes on the back of his neck.

The other Hunters had been poking at it for a day now and had pretty much given up. _This one ain_ _'_ _t gonna spill_ , they had said.

But they didn't know what Dean Winchester knew. Didn't know how to apply fear, how to break your spirit beyond what you could recover from, to be _creative_ with pain.

His sneered grimly at the thought of what he was about to do. He could already feel the cloy of blood on his hands.

His arsenal of blades, bloods and potions immaculately arranged, he set both his hands on the table, and closed his eyes.

He needed to bury down all his fears for Sam. If this vamp so much as sensed his desperation, it would be over, and he could just as well walk away. Handing over that kind of power would make his play useless.

His mind stilled, he casually pulled a blade from the collection. Sam's demon blade. This was a good a time as any to see if it stung fangs as much as it did demons.

Testing the edge against his thumb, he turned slowly on his heel, and raised his eyes to face his prey.

And stopped.

Dean could feel the colour drain from his face. "You!" he blurted.

Strapped to the chair, bloodied, was Evie.

He took an involuntary step forward, his instinct to help kicking in before he stopped himself.

She gazed at him coolly. Gone were the heavily made-up eyes, the tiny skirt and top. In its place was a tailored (previously) white shirt and crisp suit pants. Even her curls looked different.

Dean's mind raced. _Was she turned? No. She looked too calm to be a fresh turn. Was she_ _a_ _part of this? Of course, she was to keep him occupied while they took Sam from the motel room_.

"Son of a bitch", Dean growled launching himself at her, grabbing her jaw roughly, pressing the knife against the delicate skin of her throat. He made sure to draw blood.

"You did this!" he shouted into her face, his eyes wild with fury. He was challenging her to deny it, so he could cut her heart out. She stared levelly at him. No fear in her eyes.

Dean's anger was making him reckless, and he realised he needed to calm down. He stepped back, shoving her face to the side hard enough to rock the chair.

Turning his back on the vampire again, he walked to the farthest wall. Placing his forearm against the plaster for support, he leaned his head forward for a second.

He was grinding his jaw so hard, his ears hummed. _Keep it together man. Keep it together._

Realising he already gave her the upper hand in this interrogation by showing his emotions, he would have to play it smart.

He had begun to rehearse his tactics in his mind, when she spoke from behind him.

"He's dead" she stated simply, as though she were reporting the weather.

He knew he was being baited, so calmly he turned around, and strolled back, sat on the table facing her.

She was watching him indifferently.

He wouldn't play her game. "So", he said, idly picking at the etched designs on the knife, "how did you do it?" Even now he could feel the coldness of her flesh on his fingers where he had grabbed her. There must have been some kind of magic or drugs involved when she targeted him in the bar. There was no way in hell he would not have known she was a vamp otherwise. _Otherwise it mean_ _s_ _I failed Sam._

She blinked slowly, unhurried by his implied promise of violence. "For all your bluster, Mr Winchester and for all the collective knowledge between you collection of savages, you know but little".

"Please", he smiled humourlessly, "enlighten this mouth-breather". He was recalculating his tactics. She had played him hard back at that bar. There she was the bubbly waitress from a small town. Right here, right now, she was not even American, her voice changed by a strange accent. Even her posture was more precise and calculated.

She cocked her head like she was considering a slow puppy, her eyes never leaving his face.

"The vampires you are used to, Dean Winchester, are a mere shadow of what we are", she began, carefully choosing her words. "Those of us who are older, of pure blood…. To us these _things_ you hunt and label vampire, are but half-bred mongrels."

He did his best to appear bored and simply stared at her when she paused, whilst his heart thundered loudly so that he was convinced they could hear it in the next room.

Taking his silence as her cue to continue, she carried on. "Us, we are vampyres, with a 'y'. We decend from Vlad the Impaler himself. We-"

"Cookie for you" Dean interrupted "Save the Lord of the Rings recital for someone who cares, bitch." He leaned forward, indicating with the knife. "How did you whammy me? And save the history lesson".

She appeared repulsed at his interruption, and leaned back in the chair, as if trying to put more distance between herself and him. "You Yanks are so uncultured. No manners", she said indignantly.

His patience at an end, Dean rose from his seat, and started towards her.

"Alright fine," she defended, eyeing the blade in Dean's hand. "Mind control," she said. "It's mind control."

Dean sneered in disbelief. "Mind control? Like Obi-Wan-These-Aren't-The-Droids-You-Are-Looking-For mind control?"

Not understanding his reference, she simply continued. "Its more persuasion," she smirked. "Weak mind are easily convinced". She let the smile linger on her lips, while exuding defiance.

The Hunter considered her while balancing the blade in his hand. "So what was the point, exactly? Why take Sam? Why all the run-around? Why not just ….kill… him, and me, and be done with it?" he felt ill mentioning Sam's potential harm, but kept his façade.

"Our family has maintained a very strict protocol for more years than you can process. We have learnt that avoiding Hunters is easier than killing them off. Not that we would struggle to destroy your filthy kind, but it's just less admin. You are like cockroaches - for each one we destroy, ten more appear. " She rolled her wrists in the ropes, trying to ease her discomfort. "So, when our Family is discovered, and Hunters become a problem, we simply present them an offer they can't refuse. Your skinny friend was easy. It took precious little to find out where his beloved mother lived. Your weak spot is that grotesquely tall brother of yours, so that was easy as well."

Dean grinned triumphantly. "And yet here we are", crossing his arms over his chest, "Instead of scaring me off, you just _pissed_ me off. And now you will die slowly." For now, his threat was hollow as he still needed to know where they were keeping Sam.

He turned back to the table and selected a syringe containing Dead Man's Blood. He had brought a vial of Essence of Sacred Lotus. Dipping the needle into the murky liquid, he drew the poison into the syringe, watching it swirl through the clear glass.

He made a show of squirting a stream of the mix into the air. "I will make this simple: you tell me where my brother is, and I will end you quickly. Play hard to get, and I will get try out a few new tricks." His jaw set, he was done playing.

Unperturbed, the vampire eyed him levelly. "I told you. He's dead"

Dean took two quick steps towards her. Plunging the needle into her thigh, he emptied the poisoned blood into her body.

It didn't take long for the effect to take hold. Her veins throbbed darkly against her pale skin. Arching her head back, her body involuntarily jerked against the pain firing in her blood. She gurgled a grotesque sound of anguish.

He patiently waited for her to stop thrashing. It gave him satisfaction to watch her suffer. "That good, hey bitch? You want some more? I got plenty where that came from." He waited for her to calm down and look at him again, before turning back to the table for a refill.

He didn't bother with formalities when he jammed the needle into her flesh again.

"Wait!" she pleaded hoarsely, before he could push the plunger, sweat beading on her skin.

With his face inches from hers, he growled, "Where is my brother?"

"I swear", she panted, "I swear on my father. He's dead. We killed him and dumped his body in the woods."

Dean pressed down on the plunger, and stood right where he was while the vampire shrieked and flailed. Forcing her to meet his gaze when the agony stopped.

Tears trailing down her bloody cheeks, she whimpered, "What do you want me to say? He's dead. We drained him. And now his stinking corpse is full of maggots!" she spat at him, mad with pain.

Dean's weeks of anxiety got the best of him. Striding to the table, he grabbed a hatchet, and swung at her neck, roaring in fury.

As her head rolled to his feet, he realised what he had done. "Crap!" he muttered.

This should not have happened.

Sighing heavily, he let his arms drop to his side. As his rage cooled off, he could feel how tight his neck was, how tired his shoulders and how gritty his eyes were from sleep deprivation.

Staring sightlessly at the growing pool of blood at his feet, her words milled around in his head. _Sam was dead. They killed him._

Could it be? _After everything, after all the monsters, all the angels and demons, Sam was murdered by a piece of shit vampire_ _?_ _Not this way. This wasn't how it was supposed to be_.

The slow realisation that had been growing in the back of his mind, was now warranted. He had been fighting against the idea that Sam was gone. As if his sheer determination was keeping Sam alive.

The weight of grief washed over him and an immense exhaustion overtook him. There was nothing left to keep him fighting. Even though Sam had left him in Purgatory to die, even though it had eaten at his heart ever since he came back, his soul was whole when his little brother was around.

No matter how pissed he was at Sam. No matter how many times they fought. How many times Sam fucked up. It simply didn't matter. Because Sam was family. Because Sam had looked at him with those hazel eyes in admiration, in trust, since he was kid. Because Sam fucking washes his laundry, and buys him shaving cream, and stocks the fridge with beer, and makes sure to order his favourite whiskey at a bar. Because Sam was the only person in this godforsaken world, who loved him unconditionally.

Dropping his head to his chest, Dean bit his lower lip as his supressed tears spilled over his cheeks. He had had one thread of hope. And he had been clinging to it for dear life. Sam was dead. And he had nothing left.

 _No, not nothing_. He had revenge. He had the job of killing each and every of those bloodsucking sons of bitches. He had the job of showing them what it means to cross a Winchester.

And then he will kill and torture his way through the all of heaven, hell and everything inbetween, until he found a way to bring Sam back.

~oOoOoOo~


End file.
